ORIGIN

MADHUKAR.

Like a shot through the cosmos, that rang through a space few could reach, few could access. It pierced something within the ghastly presence floating about the stadium seats. She, herself, could not have heard it, but for a split second, gripped wholly by the claws of irony, she could wonder: 'does it hurt like lightning?' In the next split second, she could summon the rain. Friend of lightning, enemy of fire. The fire that burned down this particle of the past.

It is strange to say what Madhukar was thinking or feeling in that moment. She hadn't come to the Deathmatch for death, as most had. Mostly, she had only wanted to evade that chance. Knowing that half, more than half perhaps, of those who entered, who she saw in one rambunctious crowd, would not return to that same unknowable shape... it made her feel so out of...

But for a few, she had come. Against her better judgement. Do ghosts have the ability to judge anymore? She wished, most of all, that she could still her beating heart as swiftly as she could still those beating flames. Even if her magic did not work this time, it inevitably would. Even if it backfired completely — which it did! — it would never bring her down. Her heart, however, would never work like it was supposed to; she was painfully aware. It wasn't the only pain, in this moment.

Without a word, masked behind a rudimentary wooden plate and bundled in mosses, muds, the blades of leaves, she drifted down to the arena floor and attempted to take what was left of the feral kitten who had beaten her when both of them were small. The flames would gnash like phantom teeth, the absence of rain an evident downfall. Yet Madhukar would not feel angry, only lost.

If that worm creature — Erebos — had any sense of self-preservation, it would not attempt to intervene. Nobody had to be blamed. Nobody else had to...

Madhukar would shamble away then, unless she should be stopped by anyone?